


Lace and Lovelorn Whiskers

by LittleMissAfflicted



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adult Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Adult Content, Adult Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Angst and Drama, Blow Jobs, Consensual Sex, F/M, First Time, Identity Reveal, Marichat May, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissAfflicted/pseuds/LittleMissAfflicted
Summary: A shadow moves across the darkened corners of a slumbering Paris, fluid and free. Mystery wrapped in midnight leather. Mischief dashing against starlight. A cat on his way to a lone princess.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another ffnet import. Enjoy :)

* * *

 

A shadow moves across the darkened corners of a slumbering Paris, fluid and free.

Mystery wrapped in midnight leather.

Mischief dashing against starlight.

A cat on his way to a lone princess.

It isn't as often as he likes, but Chat Noir has become quite fond of his nocturnal excursions to visit Marinette. There was a time when he'd fret at thought of disturbing her. But that was before learning that she favors these late hours in which to do magic.

At least, it seems to be so.

During the hours in which the moon rules the skies Marinette takes to her talent, he knows. Sketching like mad until a gleam of triumph signals her complete satisfaction. Wielding a needle like a knight in cotton armor who's set to slay her fabric foes and stitch them into harmony; the rough lines of her imagination wrought to life.

It has to be some sort of witchcraft at hand, Chat thinks as he leaps across rooftops, that allows her to birth beauty from scraps. She's sassy but kind, his princess. Nervous but brilliantly determined. On the days in which he's bored or quietly haunted by his heroic lifestyle Chat Noir is soothed simply by watching her work.

Sometimes neither of them speaks. Other times they push at one another in a flurry of hushed laughter. When the wind is harsh and the cold creeps in, Marinette will offer him cocoa that smells divine and tastes like warmed dreams.

Together they speak of broken hearts and dreams unfulfilled until either twilight or timing brings their exchanges to an end.

"Be a good kitty." She'll whisper into the dawn as the insistent timbre of his miraculous warns of impending exposure. Marinette never asks who he really is. Has never tried to puzzle it out. Simply allows the cat to be whoever he wishes to be.

Somehow the girl he'd never taken notice of in his daily life has become a sanctuary, for in the bubble they build he feels whole. Free to be the wise-mouthed Chat Noir and the amenable Adrien Agreste both, though he never lets the latter show in excess. Mere blocks away Chat Noir begins to wonder what feats of wizardry he may witness tonight.

A dress, perhaps?

All four of his limbs touch upon her balcony effortlessly.

Hats? A matching set of scarf and gloves?

Clawed fingers slide the door to Marinette's room- left open solely for him- and he freezes.

Oh.

She stands like a ballerina, svelte yet curvaceous, awash in moonlight. Admiring her reflection with joy and doubt and then joy once more. Raven hair is set free- he's never seen it that way before- settling along the curve of her shoulders. Black lace covers the swell of her breasts, silken straps rising above them in delicate arches. Chiffon bursts forth from the bottom of her sternum, parting down the center only to join behind her under one large bow. There it becomes a bustle of ruffled layers that cascade downward to brush against mid-thigh.

Her decency is held together by a scrap of intricate black that covers her most coveted place, matching perfectly with the top of the negligee. Which, the awed cat discovers, shows the barest hint of what lies beneath; sweet pink pearls chilled by his entrance.

Marinette whirls as the cold creeps against her pale skin.

"Holy Chat!" She gasps as she clutches her own heart. Normally he would struggle not to cackle. It was a pun! But even frightened she is heart-achingly gorgeous, the new keeper of his voice and ability to articulate.

"H-Hello, Princess." Chat Noir bows. He mustn't look. Shouldn't let his emerald eyes wander.

"I had no idea you were going to come tonight!" The seamstress fumes. Rather loudly, actually.

"Your family?" He asks as he straightens back up.

"Gone to London for some sort of baker's convention."

"Were you dressed to… await someone tonight?"

It is entirely the wrong question. Marinette's cheeks blossom with bright red embarrassment as she scowls. "It's my first time designing l-lingerie! The fabrics are delicate and harder to work with and I just wanted to see if I could manage-!"

"Princess, I'm almost positive your hands can manage anything you set them to." Chat purrs softly, distance well kept. The words tumble past his lips thoughtlessly. "It's lovely. You look beautiful."

"It's silly, isn't it. I'm like a little kid playing dress up. And at my age. Don't look, you pervy cat."

"I won't." He promises. There it is. Noble, chivalrous Adrien seeping through the cracks. "But please wear it. I've never seen you look more like a real princess than you do right now. It'd be a shame to kill the moment just because I'm here."

With few strides he finds her bed and sits cross-legged. Facing the wall and preserving whatever is left of her dignity. Silence hangs in the air before Marinette huffs, tentative footsteps echoing ever closer. Chat feels the press of her back on his own as she mirrors his stance, the soft strands of her hair tickling his neck as she leans against him.

"How are you, kitty?" His princess asks as if nothing were ever the matter.

"Fine, thank you. You know I wasn't planning on this, don't you? I guess my timing is just cat-astrophic."

"So are your puns." She rolls her eyes; he can feel it.

"I expected a night of wounded fingers and bakery snacks, Marinette. Not…"

She stiffens. "Not what?"

Not her in his signature color. Not her in the throes of self-admiration, everything she's ever failed to believe about her own beauty stoking fire in her eyes. Not a mostly naked Marinette.

"You... like that."

"Like… what? Is it that bad?"

Chat inhales. She smells of linen and lavender and hot skin. It fogs his mind and rubs against his skull until it polishes a single forbidden thought, molding it into action. Eyes sheathed behind closed lids, the unlucky hero faces her. His heart leaps into his throat, and up, and out, and right into Marinette's hands.

"You're foolish." Chat murmurs behind her, close enough for his breath to graze her ear if her shudder is to be taken seriously. "Foolish and absolutely gorgeous, Princess. Mistake aside, it was a sight to remember. A sight I wish you'd grant me a little more of."

He's said too much and is liable to be punished with a sound whacking. At least Chat Noir thinks so, until Marinette speaks. "O-okay. You already saw it. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."

But it matters.

Infinitely.

For while the feline beside her has always been torn between his Lady and his Princess, Marinette suddenly encompasses his entire world. He's blinded and more foolish than she is. She's always been here, always been waiting, always been falling for him and dragging him with her one smile at a time.

The thundering of his heart must be what love sounds like as it comes into bloom.

Chat opens his eyes to drink her in anew and his pulse leaps with wishes of love and desire. Leads to the soft caress of clawed fingers along the ridges of her spine. "May I?" he asks raggedly, drawing up towards the line of her neck, and her moaned approval shatters doubts and fears and perhaps nine lives.

"Chat," she exhales shakily, "I've never. None of it. Not even this."

It compels his own confession. "Me neither, I can promise you. I'm honored." Nuzzling her gently, he croons, "I'm nervous." Gloved hands traverse either side of her hips, running underneath the fabric of her underwear as he stretches his legs out to ensnare her between them. "What am I supposed to do with a pretty thing like you?"

A single nail drags lightly beneath the swell of her clothed chest. Lips press to the skin beneath her ear. One hand sweeps up her thigh, ribs, and cheek, cupping her face and stroking her lips.

She's panting.

"…God…"

"I guess I could be one of those."

"Not now!"

"Then when?"

"When you aren't driving me crazy like this."

"Like what?"

He nips. Bites. Licks the salty-sweet of her skin, and she trembles with a cry like wild music. She's sensitive, every reaction the first of it's kind. The thought drives him mad. Chat Noir needs to see her more so than he needs to breathe.

"Face me, Princess."

She does.

There's a veil of adoration glazing her blue eyes.

Marinette is so unbelievably precious.

A growl bubbles in his throat as he kisses her. Devours her. Drags her into the hold of his unpracticed hands. It's loving and carnal, new yet magnificently ancient, this dance that they do with their tongues. Her teeth are slick and her lips petal soft and oh, oh, she's clasping his hair in her hands.

They duel and she yields, sinking to the bed and submitting to a place beneath him. Groans as he catches her mouth with his. Wails when their hips kiss with unprecedented friction.

He's straining against his suit, her panties, her body. She feels him everywhere around her and finds that she wants him no where else. He's mine, and mine, and mine, Marinette declares with a moan of his name.

A purr erupts from his throat when the damsel underneath him suckles his lower lip and runs hands along the barrier of black that shields him from her. A wall he's finally prepared to shed. The mask remains but the suit retires, and the sleekness of him makes Marinette stare. Even the bit she'd never thought she'd see is beautiful- flushed, thick, and straining up towards his blushing face.

Chat Noir undresses his princess with care, some part of his sanity reminding him that her attire is a work of art he must not ruin. Then he tugs at her mouth and breasts and the pink little soul of her very need until the shine of it weeps onto the sheets. Marinette's moans scar him as he feasts on her, her scent and flavor new. Heady. Inexplicably wonderful. A scream tears the night when he suckles softly… flick, flick, flicking.

"Chat… Dieu!" Comes his name intersped with a sinful little prayer she sighs in practiced French.

Ready. He's so ready to twine the fabric of his being to her own. Murmurs that he's prepared to protect them both before doing so. Can barely contain himself as she watches him don thin latex with her lip caught between her teeth.

"Are you sure?" He whispers as he slides against the folds of this beginning.

"Are you?" She replies softly. But she's serious. The worship hasn't quite convinced her that she owns him. Not yet. Chat laughs low and soothing. Kisses her cheek and forehead and gazes at her.

It's enough.

They join.

Light bursts. Worlds end. Stars collide.

Pain roils then ceases and is born anew as delight.

Chat Noir confesses everything he's ever thought about her, his apologies thrusting deep and sweet and relentless. Marinette accepts. Receives him over and over, and it nearly never ends.

But something twists and pulls and breaks them both- they're breaking each other- and oh, heaven sent, this woman-

This man-

Is the epitome of what a screaming heart never knew it sought.

Sunrise peeks gingerly over the horizon. The miraculous rings its warning.

"Please stay." Marinette begs far too sweetly.

"Okay." Chat Noir concedes, burying his face into her neck as he cocoons her. "But don't look."

"I won't."

She never does.

"I love you, Princess." Chat sighs raggedly. His raw, real self is all he is now. "Do you feel the same?"

Marinette takes his hand. Up and over and against her chest so that her heart is a caged flutter in his palm.

It quickens, and whispers, and beats.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

 

The light of a pastel sunrise kisses against the skin of Paris' brightest gem.

A heroine slumbering deep in the catacombs of newfound love, a bliss that blankets her being like softest down.

In her mind she recalls bejeweled eyes and promises that tasted like miracles on her tongue.

But she wakes alone and knows it will be a while yet before limits turn to glass and shatter.

When Ladybug dons her spots- onyx spattered over bright ruby- everything changes. Her feet are off the ground, a pastel backdrop beneath her as she soars on wings made of gossamer joy. On the days in which it shines with peace there is pride within her at the knowledge that her efforts make all of the difference. And that the calm, she thinks a bit guiltily, allows for her to flex strength and agility without any great need.

Shops and homes whisk by in a whorl of color as Ladybug takes leaps and bounds that make her breath come in quickened puffs of exilaration. Her muscles begin to ache familiarly, prompting a rest before the remainder of the daytime stroll (disguised as patrol) can be brought to its end. The roof she touches on with nimble feet will do nicely, she supposes, lithe legs dangling prettily over the edge of it as she stops to relax. To smile.

Her heart is so full.

So much so that she sees with it instead of her own azure eyes, realizing all too late that she's made a perch of the Agreste estate.

"Ladybug?"

The lucky insect is ensnared by the question, glancing down at its castor. It's Adrien Agreste himself- all gentle demeanor and spring-meadow eyes and feathery blonde hair. Marinette seeps through with the decency to be embarassed, cheeks pinkening before she smiles and replies, "Hello there, handsome boy."

He laughs. "You've been calling me that for a long time now. Can I not graduate to 'man' yet?"

The heroine flips gracefully onto the platform of the ample terrace that holds him. "It isn't quite as endearing that way."

"Is there trouble? Why are you here?"

Her hands wave in the negative, assuring him that there is nothing but serenity, thick and hearty like butter seeping into fresh warm bread. They laugh. Her heart pitter-patters, a habit she's never managed to outgrow.

Adrien murmurs that she might become a Lazybug if she isn't careful; if there'd been a drink in her mouth it would have errupted from her like a geyser in true Marinette form. Was he always this cheesy? How sweet.

"It's half past noon, you know," he begins as she leans against the filigree pattern of the railing, "and I'm sure even superheroes have to eat. Would you like to join me for lunch?"

Well, that's a new one.

"It's roast beef with asiago on sour dough today, I think. And salad."

"But what about everyone else?"

"I eat by myself most days. And they always make way too much." Adrien professes suddenly. His smile becomes a facade as she sees the honesty beneath it, forlorn and perhaps even lonely. A wide-eyed begging pup. Ladybug concedes.

"As long as no one can see us!"

He promises to uphold her privacy with a sweeping bow that reminds her of someone else.

They wander into a vacated room that opens up from the very same terrace. His bedroom, she realizes with a jolt. A haven her younger self would have endeavored to explore from top to bottom. A very simple table is adorned with a pristine white tablecloth and two chairs- one, she thinks sadly, for the guest that probably never comes. Cups of dark wine await them alongside their meal. They begin to eat in companionable silence until Ladybug's first bite sends her into a fitfull squirm.

"Something wrong?"

Her head shakes frantically as she swallows and groans. Heavens. They feed him oh so well.

"S'delicious!" She murmurs through another bite, forgetting her poise as the pinot noir sings in her veins. Adrien seems to stare for a moment before chuckling, prompting her to ask, "What?"

"Nothing. You just reminded me of someone, that's all."

The look in his eyes is familiar- secrets, adoration, freshly blown bubbles gleaming in the sun- as he grins. Oh. That has to be it.

"You look like someone in love."

Adrien nearly collapses. "W-what?"

"That look on your face," the heroine clarifies, "just looks like the goofy face that people in love have."

"Like the one you were making earlier?" He counters saucily. A red as rich as her costume stains her cheeks.

"I have no idea what you mean."

And he goes on to surprise her by confessing rather than teasing: "I am. In love, I mean."

It's a strange moment, and her only solution is blurt out, "I am, too."

Their eyes meet cautiously, laughter spilling over like foaming waves lapping at the shore. The current pulls them towards the black shag rug that adorns the foot of his bed, the pair of them laying in opposite directions; mismatched koi fish dragged out onto an inky sea.

"What is she like?" Ladybug asks as warmth churns in her belly. She's in love, and so is he, and together they can croon of it in the same molten language. Adrien tells her that he won't give the woman away. That she is pure wonder. A diamond in the rough surrounded by sand that seeps through his craddled hands. That she'd been there all along, and so he adores her as a bird might the air; a need he didn't realize he had.

"And him, Ladybug?"

She toys with a thread beside her until it nearly unravels as she weaves her longing all around them. He's a velvet mystery. An untouchable thing, a wish that she knows and keeps but can see only by starlight. That he, too, had been beside her for longer than she had ever envisioned and was there to catch her when she finally fell.

"I liked you for a long time." Adrien says up at the ceiling. "But I think I can say that now because who I want is so different. She isn't miles away, or saving me from danger. She saves me from loneliness instead. There's no mask, no secret. I know her face... I think I love it more than anything."

Ladybug cannot say the same, but finds that it does nothing to quell her emotion.

"I'm surprised it wasn't you and Chat Noir who wound up together. But you seem to find him annoying, huh."

"No... he's actually quite wonderful, but I'd never tell him that."

Something about the sigh in her lilt makes silence reign over the moment. Adrien coughs. "Is that so?"

"Y-yes. He's been my partner for a long time. He means the world to me. Maybe more than that. But he's the type to let that go to his head..." she giggles softly.

"Hm. Go figure."

"I know. It's odd, isn't it? When what you never knew you wanted is suddenly... there?"

"Definitely."

The tide begins to pull low.

"The food was amazing." Ladybug regards gratefully. "Will you be eating with her soon?"

Adrien stretches lazily, shirt riding up but no hint of the meal to be seen on the planes of his abdomen. "I hope so. And what about you?"

"It's complicated, just like everything else about being a hero."

"Tell me about it."

"What?"

"You'll have to tell me about it." Adrien laughs quickly.

Lady has a sudden realization that this is perhaps the closest she has ever gotten to a civilian when in her transformed state. Something about laying beside Adrien feels soothing and warm. Safe and nostalgic. They are honey and warm milk on a cold autumn night.

She loved him once, too, but can never say so.

Doesn't have to, because it's been tempered to a friendship that is both distant and close in all of the best ways.

But still... there'd been shrieks and yelps and longing. Hopeless gazes, light touches, and unspoken want that had died upon her tongue. Ladybug thinks back to all that ever was, can and will be, and her heart aches to kiss the past goodbye at long last. So she does.

Because she needs to.

She wants to.

She can.

In a silent shift of limbs she holds herself above Adrien and presses supple lips to his forehead with a tenderness that twists at his deepest self. It tugs at her too, splitting, because the wholeness they've achieved still leaves an incurable wound behind.

"She had better cherish you, handsome boy." Ladybug stares into green eyes so deeply that they both nearly drown. No room is left for reply as she heads for the terrace. For home. For him.

"Why did-?"

"Because I cherished you once myself. And you deserve even more."

She doesn't look back as she goes. Ladybug can't quite decide wether she's running from something... or to it. There's a shift in the wind- and her heart and her soul- that wracks her to and fro. An urge to laugh and cry and mourn overwhelms her like nothing before it.

There's a marrow-deep sensation that she's left something irreplaceable behind.

Perhaps she has.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

* * *

 

Time is the devil, and waiting his hell.

Chat Noir counts the days one by one, a prisoner in an intangible cell of his own invention.

"We're going to go visit my Uncle in China. I'll be back in six days," Marinette had sighed. "That's less than a week, kitty."

"That's too long." He'd whined and wound himself about her in a tangle of black and the rosy mink fabric of pajamas.

"It'll fly by. You'll see. It's not as though you'll die the minute I step out of France."

The devious cat sighed dramatically. "I die everytime I leave your side, Princess." And though Marinette simply huffed at the playful wink that followed, she'd responded to the hold upon her waist by tightening the grip she had on his own.

"It's fine." Marinette- princess, seamstress, seductress- promised softly. "I'll just bring you back to life when I get back."

And so he'd held her, pretty features aglow in dim lamp-light as the scent of her embalmed them both. Until pats to his hair and strokes to her chin drew them together... and their lips apart.

Chat Noir had waited patiently (feelingly oddly more canine than feline all the while). He'd known days to blur into an inseparable mass of activity, but these seemed determined to drag and crawl and embed their individuality into his aching heart. Even the usual akuma-possesed villains declined to make an appearance. Which was fortunate, he supposed, but also gave him nothing to do but prowl longingly.

Waiting for his Princess was an unrelenting agony. The broken melody that he imagined would echo if he ran his claws across a harp and watched each string snap apart. It wasn't until the fifth day that it began to evolve into anticipation, an excitement that sat in his belly like a flock of purified butterflies. By the sixth and final day it had fermented into an incurable ailment that warmed his blood. An urge. And electric itch on his flesh.

The date of Marinette's return finally arrives.

As soon as the day begins to melt away in a puddle of coral and orchid over the horizon Chat Noir darts across Paris like a shooting star. As he scales and bounds the night begins to shroud him. His shortness of breath isn't from physical effort, but the shallow exhalations of exitement that he can only barely contain. It's been awful without her. Boring. A black and white world.

The balcony he knows so well awaits the silent tread of his feet as he reaches her. Opens the door. Inhales. Sees raven hair and adorable macaron printed sweatpants. Aquamarine irises as she turns to face him.

"I'm home, kitty cat!"

Fireworks.

Chat holds his arms wide open and feels home rush into him. Wholeness pour over his heart. "I missed you." She laughs simply, as if it were the easiest feat. Marinette smells like lillies and spice and chamomile. The purr in his throat conveys how much he likes the newness of it

"Put a jacket on, Princess." The dark hero murmurs into her silky hair.

"Why? Are we going somewhere?"

"If you'd like."

"If I say yes will you unglue yourself from me?"

"Only minimally."

That giggle. Spun sugar.

"Alright. Give me a moment."

Marinette moves like a dancer, he swears. Such long, toned legs should be illegal for anyone but him to admire. A navy parka secures her upper body that's currently clothed in a simple white shirt and a mint bralette playing peekaboo along the hems. Chat's nocturnal eyesight misses no detail.

"Before I forget!" She decides suddenly and nearly trips on her way to a drawer. After a moment of rummaging she faces him with hands clasped suspiciously behind her back. "I got you a souvenir." The feline approaches cupped palms to find... another feline. A small keychain of a beckoning cat, black and gold and eternally smiling.

"You're a bad luck cat, so I got you a good luck one. If you don't like it I can-"

He snatches the trinket and lets it dangle before his eyes. It's heavier than expected and quite shiny. It's possible that the little creature is carved from onyx or polished stone, but it could just as well be plastic and he'd adore it all the same

"I love it. You can't take Little Noir back. He belongs to me now."

A delicate brow rises incredulously. "Little Noir?"

"My lucky counterpart." Chat grins as he waves the keychain languidly before tucking it into a pocket.

"Do... you really like it? You don't have to pretend."

"I finally have something to keep that will always remind me of you, Marinette. Of course I like it."

She believes him.

And then looks at him with wide eyes as he tells her to wrap her arms around his neck and hold tight.

No, he won't drop her. They won't fall. Where are they going? She'll just have to wait and see.

Marinette amazes him even more with peals of laughter that ring like a bell. "This is insane!" She declares as he catapults them across buildings with his silver staff. It's like having a cloud strapped to his back, his precious girl's weight. The night air is cool and sweet on their faces as he approaches their destination-

"The Eiffel tower?" Marinette asks against his ear. Her breath is warm as it sends a chill up his spine.

He lets his pole touch the ground and pulls her off into the air, crouching to clutch at it with only the soles of his feet and settling her onto his thigh.

"You aren't scared?" Chat Noir asks as a breeze plays between them.

"No. You won't let anything happen to me. And this view is beautiful."

The parisian glow of city lights surrounds Marinette like a halo. The polished black of his leather gleams in the night. He leans his head towards her and croons. "Absolutely gorgeous," in accented drawl.

"Wait, you speak english?" His lap-warmer inquires with some shock.

"Among other things. To be honest my strongest foreign language is spanish at the moment."

"Say something to me. In spanish, I mean. Please?"

He smiles, unable to deny her anything before purring softly:

"Sus ojos el cielo

La luna en su piel

La noche en su pelo

Y labios de miel"

The way her head tilts in question is absolutely endearing. "What's that mean though? I can't understand it, silly kitty."

"It means 'Your eyes are the sky, the moon on your skin, the night in your hair, and your lips made of honey."

Was it a foolish thing to say? Chat nearly swallows his heart as Mari's expression grows blank, and then wide eyed before she leans in very carefully to press her mouth to his. Chat Noir wonders is all of the world beneath them can see it happen. If Paris is watching him fall in love.

"Am I hurting you?" Marinette asks as limbs begin to shift.

"No. But there's something I want to show you."

And that is how the pair find themselves covertly scaling the side of perhaps the most famous tower in the world.

Revealing the third floor to be their destination, Chat Noir quickly undoes a lock with the flick of his claw and squirrels them away inside.

Inside.

Oh.

"Is this-?"

"The apartment built into the tower by Eiffel himself."

"Won't we get... I don't know, a life sentence, if we're caught here?"

Chat chuckles richly, waving his claws around as explanation. "Took care of that. I'll just let the Mayor know that I happened to come across a security flaw tomorrow. No harm done."

Marinette sees a world of strung lights curling around her like half-opened flowers, plush blankets lain across the historic carpeting of the secret home. The chairs and decor are rustic but charming. She can't help but marvel at how absolutely inpossible it seems for someone to have made themselves a haven tucked into the very symbol of France's city of love.

"Come, Princess." Chat falls into his customary bow and then motions at the nest he's made on the ground.

Slowly, as if she can't be sure if this is a dream, Marinette follows. Sheds her jacket and joins him on the mismatched fabrics at their feet. They splay themselves and giggle and make false snow angels in a world all their own.

"Did you miss me this much Chat?" His princess asks with a smile.

"I missed you pawfully. Promise." He chortles when she hits him playfully, knowing his puns are by far the easiest way to rile her up.

"Ugh. Me too. So much." Blue eyes peer up at the ceiling. "This feels familiar. Maybe I'm having de ja vu."

"Have you been laying with other cats on blankets lately?"

"No." Delicate hands take hold of him as Mari rolls over to face him. "Just been in another country pining for a stray who comes and goes."

"Stray?"

"You're right, excuse me. A distinguished alley cat."

"What did you think about?" Chat asks softly.

"Meaning?"

"Did you think about me holding you?" Chat embraces her gently.

"Y-yes."

"Telling you how beautiful you are?"

"Maybe." Marinette giggles and then quiets as he brings his face closer to her level.

"Dream of my kisses?"

Eyes become lidded as they hold each other close. Her breath is mere inches away, her pretty mouth...

She whispers. "Yes."

The word bleeds magic into the night.

Chat Noir sits up, cradling the most wonderful person he's ever known in the width of his lap. Pressing wind chilled lips to Marinette's collarbone with a silky growl. "So cold!" She squeaks as he pulls back.

"Warm them for me then, Princess."

A dam of yearning overflows. He kisses. She sighs. Chat suckles, and nips, and pulls back to free a moan of his name into the air. Touching her still feels like a forbidden ritual. Her tiny waist, the perky rise of her breasts... clawed fingers knead and pinch softly until a sharp cry unlike any she's made before causes him to clamp and tug in reflex. It only serves to amplify the pleasured call as Marinette begins to undulate against him.

Friction becomes fire trapped between their bodies. It's still so new and yet the rhythm is embedded deep within them in some place that they feel but never quite know. "Marinette." The black cat grits with a groan as her hips rut and slide against the whole of him, the heat between her legs a lascivious invitation.

"Do you want this?"

He looks up at her.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Disheveled strands of hair, heaving chest, darkened cheeks. Lust-glazed eyes, muscles slack, pink lower lip licked without thought. Marinette looks debauched and he hasn't even had her yet. She nods with a sharp little moan as he bucks into her.

"Tell me."

"T-tell you what?"

Leaf-green sclera seem to glow as Chat burries his fingers into her thick hair, the other tracing patterns of love along her neck. "That you want me to make love to you here, in the sky, until you forget you ever left me."

The smile that crosses her features is unexpected. Awing. Everything.

"Make love to me then, my prince."

Her prince.

Chat Noir knows without a doubt that he's fallen for her all over again. Learns that it feels like trying to encapsulate a cyclone in a jar, the inevitable burst of shards piercing his heart in quick succession like a round of bullets.

Her wishes become his command as he sets to her, moth to flame.

A roughness wrought by need edges his movements, his touches, his words. Her shirt is yanked, soft mint colored straps edged over her shoulders by ravenous teeth. The poor opacity of the fabric only serves to make Chat want her more; he can see her nipples hardening into tight points of need. With a bit of coaxing he is able to remove the delicate cage and then her pants as well. Marinette follows him to the ground where he spoons her close, her back pressing to the warmed resistance of leather.

A princess cries out as hands sear her body with desire. One at her front and the other caressing along the length of her as her back arches to feel the culprit against her backside. So hot, and hard, and burning.

"Chat... Chat, please!" She begs as rough breaths press to the shell of a pierced ear and sharpened nails skate against pale inner thigh.

"I wonder if all I've done is corrupt you Princess." Chat confesses to her. "But then... I see you this way and I can't help but like it. Am I really who you love?" The last time he'd asked she hadn't answered with words. He needs them this time, he thinks as he lays insecutity bare. It's a shivering thing that Marinette doesn't know she could easily fracture.

Marinette faces with him with a tender look that gleams in the pits of her eyes. Traces the line of his jaw with her fingers. The bridge of his nose. Curve of his lips. Whispy points of his lashes.

"I love you, Chat Noir."

"Even though you don't know all of me?"

Something crosses her face- guilt? Fear? Hesitation?- but the smile that replaces it is sincere.

"I love all of you, silly kitty. Even the parts I don't get to see. I know you have your reasons for keeping if a secret. But if I love this much of you already... I look foward to loving the rest, too. I'll cherish it."

Chat Noir adores her in that moment. Wants to unravel her, and himself, and twine everything together so that Marinette can feel the extent of it in her every cell. Instead he settles for removing his outfit in a hushed flourish and pressing skin to skin as close as he possibly can. This time Mari is the one that begins to fumble against him, inpatient little fingers driving him mad. At some point she kicks off her last shred of clothing, and he's sheathed and-

He presses.

She sighs.

He sinks.

They groan.

This is the safest Chat has ever felt, with mind wrapped in bliss and body wrapped in Marinette's. She pulls him into depths he had no idea a person could touch. Places he wants no one else to ever explore with her. It's only their second time, he thinks as the sound of their movements fills the heated air, thick loud and luscious. But it feels like the first, and hundreth, and last. Like Marinette has never not been his.

Everything starts to ache and spark as Chat Noir is yanked down for an unexpected kiss that forces him to drink down Marinette's strangled notes of completion. Just the sight of it- her eyes fluttering and legs wrapped tightly around him- makes joy focus into a blaze that ravages his body in a way he can't contain.

He bursts. Dies a little death. Is blind to the world until he opens his eyes and finds himself pressed to her heart.

"Hear that?" Marinette mutters weakly. Lovingly.

He does.

The beat of it hasn't changed...


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

 

 

Disquietude resonates in the one heart of two women.

Love like swallowed fire curling around fear like blackened hope.

Marinette holds all of it in with impossible happiness. So, in turn, does Ladybug.

Somehow Chat Noir is lax to notice. She isn't sure if this is to her great chagrin or pleasure.

The cat who once wooed her watches the world with eyes that seek what isn't there. A gaze that sees through her. The flirting has dissolved into sighs of longing... for the woman he doesn't know she is. And she ponders, puzzles, chews the thoughts in her mind till they corrode her with doubt. Would she, could she, love whomever Chat Noir isn't? And would all of her be too much for him? Perhaps not enough?

Marinette wonders if she'd been falling all along- slowly, like sinking into molasses- before tumbling and reeling and then loving her kitten all at once. The newness of it thrills her. Suddenly the world is saturated and endless before her and when, as Ladybug, she thinks that Chat Noir isn't looking she shows him the hearts in her eyes with a stifled smile.

The spring in her step is wild joy when she swings and leaps gracefully along the picturesque backdrop of her city. Because underneath the crimson she is also Marinette, and she is in love, and her love fights unknowingly beside her.

But she does stumble.

Her other self will suddenly find herself wanting to hold herself against Chat after battle. Run her red laden fingers through his wild blonde hair and feel the purr reverberate against her hands. But even when she lets it show, Chat Noir merely laughs and teases and turns to face nothing, or so it seems, until she realizes that the direction he faces always points to home.

Her home.

And on the nights in which Chat Noir appears it becomes his too, although Marinette suspects that he could hold her in his arms and anywhere he took her- the moon or the sun or the end of all things- would feel theirs.

Chat watches her. Praises her. And on the nights in which their laughter shifts them against one another just so, molds to her form until kiss-swollen lips say only his name to the dark. But he doesn't have her again, nor asks to, and the ache of his absence within her begins to grow.

Is it her? Is it him? Is it-

"Do you think it's time for the truth?" The little red kwami asks softly one day, petting

Marinette's hair like a friend and sister and guardian. Tikki has never been anything less.

"But I'm not supposed to tell-"

"Well you aren't supposed to give up who you are to be Ladybug, either, Marinette. You've done wonderfully over the past few years. You've given so much of yourself to Paris. And it's okay to love him. Would you like to know a secret?" Tikki chatters soothingly.

"Yes?"

"Every Ladybug I've ever watched over has fallen in love."

Oh.

It's not just a secret. It's the kwami's permission, archaic and gentle. Had that also been part of what held her back? It must have been, Marinette thinks as a sigh of relief leaves her and she presses a kiss to the tiny creature's forehead.

"Thank you, Tikki." She smiles in understanding and begins to prepare her mind for whatever may come.

It's with that same rich mixture of trepidation and anticipatory ache that Marinette bounds straight into the body of another person at her internship. Scatters a rainbow of fabrics all over the floor, apologizing before even opening her bright blue eyes.

"It's fine. Are you alright?"

She's already scrambling along and gathering her bearings but nods.

"Let me help you. Oh," the stranger stops suddenly, "it's you Pr- Marinette!"

"Adrien?" The flustered designer-in-the-making looks up at a very familiar face.

"Hi. How've you been? I loved the suit you made for our last shoot. It fit me perfectly. You're gonna give Vera Wang a run for her money someday, I swear." Is he babbling?

"That was for you? I was just given measurements to work off of so I had no idea. I'm glad you liked it, though!" Is she speaking to him... normally?

They collect the materials in an oddly palpable sort of silence, Adrien claiming the last piece and piling it onto her stack carefully. Fingertips gently touch her own and linger, warmth bubbling under her skin in response. She looks up into eager eyes so bright a green that they could be mistaken for peridots inlaid into porcelain.

"I've actually been meaning to talk to you." Adrien says with one hand tossed behind his shoulder and scratching at his neck.

"You have?"

The beauty of that face, Marinette tells herself, is surely what's causing her to feel like there's a current making her hair stand on end. She hasn't thought of Adrien in the way she used to for quite some time. Not since-

"Ah, Adrien!"

A slender man with high cheek bones and carbon hair ruffled then dyed blue at its tips rushes towards them. In his tan hands are several stacked folders and a soft green... something. Somehow, Marinette notes enviously, everyone around the place is capable of running around with full hands except her.

"Thank heavens I found you! You are free today, non?"

"Hi Louis. Uh, I-"

"It's a crisis! I need you desperately!"

Smiling lopsidedly, the young woman merely observes the peculiar sight. It plays out like a strange love scene right out of a romantic comedy… of which she is not the heroine.

"Our model for the menswear of this year's spring collection is a no show! He called off sick with a flu! A flu! As if that cannot simply be painted over with concealer! And the handler refused to work on anyone else. I smell a romance curdling like camembert-"

Did Adrien just wince?

"-and rotting their careers! The kisses better be worth it. No one cancels on an Agreste project and gets back to work with ease!"

"So you want me to substitute? As in... now?"

Louis practically jumps in place. "I knew you would help! Merci!"

Dark eyes pause to rest on Marinette and she grins with an awkward nervousness that barely suits her pretty face.

"Bring her along. You'll need a stylist. For fixes, tears, you know. I couldn't find anyone who wasn't booked or off."

"But I just intern here, sir. I've never..."

"Exactement! You should be grateful for the experience. Besides, Juliette recommended the cardigan you created for the line. Clearly you ought to be able to arrange the rest, since you captured the distinct vibe they wanted."

The fabrics in her hand greet the ground for a second time.

Louis is well known for three things: being fashionable, flamboyant, and infallibly persistent. While Marinette herself works closely with the classy and clean-cut Juliette, Louis is the neon and pastel to her primary and neutrals. Where they clash in style they mesh in ideals, often brainstorming for whatever projects required more than a single eye.

As of now the insistent part of the man's nature is front and center, nearly yanking Marinette towards the set she'd been forced to go to. The ride over had been terribly awkward, she stuck with the chatty man while Adrien reluctantly rode in his usual bodyguard driven vehicle. Louis instructed her to 'prep, prep, prep' which included fixing any minimal damage to the clothing, last minute adjustments, and-

"His makeup? I don't know anything about doing-"

"Oh cheri, of course you do! You expect me to believe your lashes are real? Don't be so modest. Just make certain to bring out his cheekbones. Gabriel prefers a more severe emphasis now that he's older. A warmer shade to bring out that Agreste glow, if you would. You'll do fine!"

There was a chill in her veins that Marinette knew had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

The area for the shoot is well lit, pristine white backdrop at the ready. She's led to a different space that holds racks of clothing and a spacious vanity. Immediately blue eyes begin scanning her tools: Lustre drops? CC cream? Why are there so many brushes in so many shapes? It's becoming increasingly clear that she'll have to call Alya and study Youtube once the ordeal is over.

Marinette trails pale fingers across the top of a wispy brush with two-toned bristles and marvels at its softness. It feels like petting a rabbit from the local zoo. The clothes catch her eye next- light washed jeans and relaxed shirts and clean cut jackets. There are even boots and loafers in five different colors. And best of all, she thinks with a swallowed squeal, her cardigan!

It sits on a black velvet hanger like a slouched yet contented prisoner, the hand-knit meadow green stitched to perfection. The slightly puffed sleeves and v-neck had been the most laborious details, and the chunky midnight buttons the easiest. She could easily picture it over a collared shirt and tie, or even on its own over a tee...

"You beat me here."

Adrien's voice- delectably silky, a swallow of merlot on her tongue- nearly echoes in the room.

She whirls in surprise (certainly not because of the masculine music he speaks in, no) and then relaxes visibly, shoulders easing back.

"I'm so sorry. Honestly. I had no idea that Louis would basically kidnap you and force you into this."

"Oh, no!" Marinette smiles with a wave of hands. "It's fine. It'll be great! I just wish I knew what to do first. Designing is my specialty. This… really isn't."

"Well you'll want to start with the outfit, so makeup doesn't smudge onto it while I change into everything."

"That makes sense, actually."

Oh hell. She's about to play dress-up with the man she'd once loved from afar as if it were as simple as breathing air. While strange in its own right, the situation also brings with it a certain degree of power. Anything she likes he'll wear, Marinette thinks as she runs her hands over each beautifully crafted piece. The many ads and photos she used to collect of him (and plaster to every inch of her bedroom) flood into her mind and cheeks.

Adrien had always been painted prim and proper, not a single blonde hair out of place. Consistently and traditionally handsome. Dressed in button-up shirts and slim pants. Clothes that he wore well…

But weren't him.

That was it!

Marinette begins to grin, combing through her options in a blaze of inspiration. Hangers slide across the metal pole of the rack as she rejects anything that looks predictable. If she absolutely has to be his stylist, then Adrien will be made over, and 'perfection' is not a part of the edgy, carefree picture she intends to paint.

"Can you try these on?" Her voice murmurs from behind a stack that comprises the first outfit.

Adrien laughs and she is positive that something special happens somewhere whenever he does. Perhaps flowers bloom, or storms cease, or nearby pulses leap like wild horses at play. "You look so serious right now. I guess you're more composed when you mean business."

"You're right. I am." She winks. "So get to it!"

"Yes ma'am." He sighs in mock defeat before proceeding to remove his shirt and Marinette's soul in one fell swoop.

Adrien is something beyond beautiful.

Woven from steel and shaped by angels and brushed with gold dust.

The sight of his lean yet unexpectedly muscular chest causes Marinette's mouth to become desert dry; she can almost feel the hot sand pouring down her throat. Azure eyes roam cautiously, until the sight of dusky pink nipples and an imperative 'V' of flesh where his jeans cling low cause wasteland to progress to ocean.

"There is no curtain Marinette. You know, you're supposed to help dress me. Technically speaking of course." Springtime eyes sparkle, a bashful smile tugging at Adrien's lips. A flirtation that a very blinded pseudo-stylist is wont to be stricken by.

"Oh! I can definitely do that. I mean, if I have to. If you want me to, just-"

"I'm teasing. You're not even really supposed to be here. And I sort of hate being 'handled'. I'm pretty sure I can dress myself… though I'm not ever supposed to protest."

"I guess it's a good thing I have no idea what I'm doing." Marinette laughs nervously as she turns away to allow him to finish. Attempts to convince herself that she doesn't want another peek all the while.

The final product is exactly what she wants: black low cut leather boots with a single silver buckle, dark wash jeans that flatter but don't hug, a simple white tee, and the brighter green of her handmade cardigan.

She claps happily before ushering him to the seat by the vanity. Adrien shuts his eyes without being told, face going utterly slack as he becomes her canvas. What on earth should she do? And why on earth do they ever coat him in makeup when he is already so divine? Marinette studies Adrien's untouched features closer than she's ever seen them: the thick arches of his brows, the curve of gold-tipped lashes, the barest hint of color at his smooth cheeks.

It brings her to thoughts of her mother. Sabine Dupain-Cheng had taught her that beauty started in the heart and grew outwards. As thus, Marinette had grown up donning a bare face without much thought. She'd never been one for cosmetic endeavors and all of the complications they entailed. Why strive so hard to look like someone she wasn't ?

With a smile on her face the young designer dips into a small jar labeled 'La Mer' and gently dots the cold white cream along the model's face. Massages it in with nervous fingers until she feels that it's absorbed before proceeding to coat his lips in a thin layer of a metal-tipped balm. Something is still missing…

Ah.

Noting the box of jewelry that has been selected for the shoot Mainette quickly decides on a simple bar of silver that hangs off of a thin black cord. Very carefully, she clasps it behind Adrien's neck and giggles- it sits like a collar at his throat. In a rush of inspiration her hand reaches into thick blonde hair and musses until its signature part has been done away with. A touch of hairspray is all that's needed to keep the artistic chaos of it in place as she steps back.

The overall effect is something akin to secrets and beachside picnics and toffee colored scotch coating the curve of a glass. Adrien looks manly and-

He appraises himself in the mirror as Marinette nearly whispers "What do you think?"

Confident.

He exudes a sort of slyness that she hadn't ever known his face was capable of.

"No makeup. You messed with my hair. And there isn't a tie in sight. Marinette."

"Yes?"

His pearl toothed grin pierces her heart gently; metal cutting into butter.

"I really love this."


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

 

 

Marinette can scarcely recognize the person in the mirror.

Every shoot thus far has been a masquerade of powdered skin and restrained sophistication. Collared shirts, monochromatic color schemes and expertly tamed hair. The young man before her is debonair and casual. A side that she hadn't even known existed.

"You're positive that this is okay?"

Adrien turns to look at her, coif of golden hair tossing back in an oddly mesmirizing motion.

"You chose it. Have faith in your work." He advises her with a rattle of laughter simmering beneath the words.

Determination lights up the intern's face as she agrees wholeheartedly. "Let's get the shoot started then. I'll even bring a brush so I can make it look like you're makeup is being retouched."

"Keep it up and I might have to hire you."

"Just so you never have to wear makeup again?"

She recieves a troublingly sweet smile and wink in answer.

"There's that too, I guess." Adrien chuckles as he makes his way out and onto the set. Marinette isn't positive what falls into the realm of reality (because here she is, assisting longtime model Adrien Agreste) but she could almost swear that he'd turned to gaze at her one last time... then again...

She tarries after him and hushes her own imagination with gently flushed cheeks instead.

"And just what is this?"

The question is rasped so harshly that it drags across Marinette's skin like sandpaper. Suddenly Louis looks less like a harmless fashionista and more like a scornful fashion deity.

"Where is the sophistication? The bronzer? And what have you done to his hair?! Explain!"

There's a tug at her heart that cripples her ability to speak, mouth agape in uncertainty. But Adrien stands at her side with raised brows, reassurance quickly filling her speech.

"Gabriel Agreste expects perfection... a-and perfection knows no equal. Instead of the same look Adrien is known for I chose a direction of clean lines and subtle rebeliousness to represent the whimsy of spring. Not a look that the other male model could have worn, but something completely his own. So... I hope that you'll give it a chance."

"I was struck with disbelief at the sight of him, I'll admit." Loius begins with a soft 'click' of his tongue. His wiry body circles Adrien's, inspecting, a featherless buzzard in a frenzy. "But I see Juliette's influence in the neutral colors. And while choosing your own piece is cheeky, the pop of color harmonizes... Brings out his eyes too. Alright, cheri. I'll make an exception. I suppose the bronzer can always be photoshopped later."

The cheshire cat grin on the designer's face could mean anything; Marinette wants to believe it's indicative of surprise rather than a premonition of being fired for ruining the top model of the Agreste empire. She supposes that only time will tell.

The pair is led to a setup of blank white backdrop, tripods, and an area set aside for the main computer that Marinette assumes will be used for editing. Other than that the room is silent until-

"Mon Dieu, Adrien! It's been so long since our last shoot; just look at this!"

Blue eyes widen at the sight. Marinette recognizes the photographer from some of Adrien's public shoots (includling the one with little Manon) as well as the 'school picture curse' incident with Juleka a few years back. He's aged well, his attire modified to a black tee, vest, and sole scalloped glove on his right hand.

"Er, oui!" Adrien replies with the merest twitch of brow. It reminds her that while the man is genius, his way of working is as close to pulling teeth as one could get short of becoming a tooth fairy.

"Well this is a new look for you." The visual genius regards calmly, turning to face Mari. "Your doing, I suppose?"

A ball forms in Marinette's throat and she swallows around it, nodding vigorously instead.

The photographer smiles. "I love it! It looks suave on him. Well done. Now let's get this started shall we?"

It's the very first shoot that Marinette has worked personally... And coincidentally the most awkward.

"Now show me charisma! Freedom!" Shouts the photographer from behind the click of his camera lens. "You're a bunny rabbit skipping through a field!"

She can't help but cringe. It's even worse than when she'd gone through her first period and her dad had lovingly baked her vanilla macarons full of (very red) strawberry creme filling in its honor. She'd cried and he'd rushed to get her a chocolate filled croissant instead.

"You've been fed a spoonful of cheesecake, ooh, it's good! The strawberries, the whipped cream, the crust; ecstacy! And now it's been taken from you so give me rage!"

Adrien is posing typically but... Hesitantly? The emotion that the camera man is doing his best (and strangest) to coax from him is simply absent. Marinette thinks back to all of her old magazine clippings: a seductive turn of his head, a casual stroll in which he'd stared at his own expensive shoes, the one in which he'd been caught jumping high into the air with a wide smile. Where was all of that magnificent expression?

"Non, non, Adrien! What is the matter?" The designer-in-training wonders the same. And then Adrien's eyes clash with hers: a pleading gleam drawing blue eyes towards expectant green.

"Excuse me!" Marinette interjects aloud. She immediately wishes the ground would open and swallow her up.

"Oui?"

"H-he needs a bit of powder on his forehead!" It's a lie, but one with actual relevance that allows a pause in activity so she can make her way towards Adrien. A makeup brush and little container of finishing powder are gripped tightly in hand as she approches and begins a false makeup routine.

"What's the matter?" Marinette whispers as she touches the brush to his skin in gentle sweeps, tracing his cheekbones as if she were bringing life to a living piece of art.

"This just feels odd." Adrien confesses. "I'm dressed differently but being guided the same way I always have, and it just doesn't seem to mesh with the vibe of the clothes."

"But aren't you used to this?"

"Yeah," he sighs almost dejectedly, "I am... Though not really by choice."

In that instant Ladybug- and and by extension Marinette- remembers their talk at his house. The way they'd lain and whispered secrets in tones of insecurity and hope and awe. The thing that had brought him joy to speak of...

"Is there anyone you like?"

"Huh?"

Marinette repeats the question, accentuating the final words with gentle arches of brush to furrowed temples.

"Um... Yes. There is someone."

"Good." A kindred smile pulls at her lips as Adrien opens his eyes. He looks at her... (stares?)... and searches for answers that are written on her secret heart rather than her face. "I want you to think of whoever that person is. Will you do that?"

"What are you up to?" The question rushes forth as a sweet whisper that tinges the skin of his cheeks as if she'd colored them with blush. This is part of the reason she used to like him, Marinette reflects suddenly. This gentleness that's nearly too endearing.

"I'll be back in a moment."

A series of questions and squabbling later the ambitious Marinette returns with a look of triumph on her face. Her plan just has to work, she thinks nervously as she scrolls through the settings on her cellphone, prompting a bluetooth connection. A duet of piano and electric guitar errupts from the speakers of the photographer's laptop- the song Jagged Stone had written for Ladybug a few years ago. The rhythm thrums energetically, filling Marinette with a sense of pride and a quick pinch of anxiety. Adrien might refuse after all.

"Forget about cheesecake and rabbits Adrien." She sighs nervously at the very bemused model. "Imagine what we talked about. How she makes you feel. If she were here, would you dance with her?"

"I'd want to."

"Then picture that. Show me what you got. Just... Forget that you're modeling and let loose."

His blank face does nothing to help her confidence in the matter, so Marinette does as she says: sets a reasonable distance between herself and the backdrop she starts to dance. It's as far from serious as can be; she moves her hips to the melody but poses and meshes every popular music video routine she can possibly think of. It's a mess, and she's mortified, but the two men far behind them meld into her surroundings. It's just Adrien. And all she wants is for him to laugh.

If Chat Noir were here he would be hysterical, Marinette thinks with a muffled chuckle. He'd capture her in an armful of carbon hued leather and prance with her in what would probably be a very clumsy waltz on her part. He's a much better dancer than she would have guessed; of course, dancing was the last thing that either of them worried about when saving all of Paris.

Still, it would be ridiculous, and fun, and-

Marinette finds herself laughing and giving Adrien the sort of cheesy 'come hither' motion she'd expect from a popstar before jumping around to the tempo of the song's chorus. The model's expression transitions from open mouthed incredulity to fits of laughter that sparkle in the pits of his gaze. He begins to move tentatively and in that moment Marinette knows she's victorious.

"Walk towards me like you're about to make the best entrance a boy band has ever seen!" Marinette directs. Adrien begins a saunter in time to the music, running a hand through his back-combed hair and posing with feet apart, biting his lower lip as he pauses before her.

Wow, he's-

Laughing, head tossed back, the sexy facade quickly dissolving in the sound of it.

Sexy? Marinette tries to shoo the thought away, pick it up and shove it into a chest to lock it shut where it can't be found... But it finds a way into her breath and pulse, tingling brilliantly all the way towards her toes. What else could he be though, as he grins and beams sheer joy at her through every pose?

The soft, rapid clicking of a camera doesn't register as Adrien edges closer and consequently causes her heart to leap into her throat. And Mari would've forced it down and swallowed an oncoming wheeze-

If he wasn't clasping her hand and bowing, coaxing her onto his pristine dancefloor.

"B-but the shoot!"

"It's fine. They can rat on me if they want to. Besides, it was your idea."

"Not to this extent!"

"May I have this dance?"

As soon as their eyes meet Marinette is riddled- shaken and cut to the quick of her soul, really- with a feeling that he could ask her for anything and she would give it to him unquestionably. Nervous steps lead her closer to him, face to face. Suddenly there are raindrops and warmth and compassion cloaking them both; the very same smile he'd given her the day they'd met.

He leads.

She follows.

And they find each other through spills and tumbles and dips in which he somehow always catches her. The minutes float on, nearly eternal, until a shout from Louis causes the moment to ebb away like a moonset into the horizon, taking all of the magic with it.

"Cheri, come look!" The photographer becons Marinette towards his laptop excitedly. When she arrives he scrolls through the pictures beginning with the first few of the day. Adrien is expertly positioned but lacking emotion. As if he were just a puppet with strings being manipulated by the Agreste name...

And then the rest of the snapshots roll by, his expression changing, a flower in bloom opening to the sun. To her. The unsettlingly gorgeous gaze he'd fed her sears through the brightness of the screen and Marinette swears that it tries to inscribe itself onto her heart-

Onto a place where Chat Noir already dwells.

Just what the hell is wrong with her?

"This is perfection! Absolutely sublime! You certainly do know how to draw the best from him. Well done."

Louis claps lazily but smiles wholeheartedly. "He isn't wrong. I've never seen him exude that much energy before. Someone else will be modeling the rest of the line as planned, but I have no doubt that Mr. Agreste will choose this photo to headline it. I knew you could do it."

Marinette grins in the silliest way. Looks back to Adrien, who gives her a farway thumbs up.

It's a victory for the both of them.

"Marinette you were wonderful!" Tikki jumps merrily out of the little pink bag that serves as her portable dwelling, hugging against Mari's cheek.

"Thank you Tikki. I had no idea I'd get pulled into such a mess!" The heroine nuzzles her kwami back with a giggle.

"Well I'm proud of you. Always am. Oh!" In a whorl of crimson Tikki dissapears into hiding once more, signaling Adrien's entrance into the room where they'd prepped earlier.

Marinette turns at breakneck speed. Just in time to watch as he pulls the fruits of her labor up and over his head, the t-shirt fleeing along with it. He smirks shyly and she's convinced that the only way she could ignore the half-naked male is if she were drained of every drop of hormones in her body.

"That was the most fun I've ever had at a photoshoot. Even the ones as a kid were all buisiness."

"R-really?"

Does he not know he's bare chested? Why is he coming closer?

"Yes. Thanks so much Marinette. I know you shouldn't have had any part of this... But I'm really glad you were here."

"Me too." And despite never meaning to say so the answer is sincere.

"I think I'm going to keep the sweater. It's really cozy. Not as stiff as anything I usually model." He approaches her as he declares it. She can feel as her hip bumps against the vanity, instinct driving her to scurry further away.

"I used a really soft blend of fabrics to make it. It cost me a small fortune but it's as good as I could get, short of cashmere."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Me? Of course."

"Did you have anyone in mind when we were dancing?"

She blanches. Of course there was someone. Chat Noir: her Prince whose kisses are swallowed starlight and heart lies curled against her own. But then... She'd thought of him, too. Of soft palms and looks so sweet that they fell upon her skin like swaths of velvet. Of gold and green and glamor.

"Hm?" The young man in question prompts her. Searches her; for what, she couldn't say.

"I-I guess-"

"Marinette?"

"Yes?"

He slides a hand into one of hers-

Paralyzes the world and everything in it with a mere touch-

And confesses.

"That was amazing. You're amazing."

Marinette watches him gaze at the ground. Bite at his lower lip with a frustration she's rarely ever witnessed. Meet her eyes with his own.

"I thought of you." Adrien murmurs quietly. And it's disastrous; he doesn't know that he's unearthed old love and dragged it towards the surface where it bursts and floods and drowns her. Marinette shudders with bated breath; he reeks of sandalwood and dewdrops. Of a springtime that begins to thaw within her bringing newness to what merely lay in slumber.

"Marinette."

The name becomes diamonds scattered onto glass, every syllable a sparkling clash in her ears.

"I've thought about you for a long time." Adrien clarifies. Azure eyes widen as she watches him become something magnetic. A lovely begging thing of blazing cheeks who wants her as much as she once wanted him.

Wants him.

Because she now remembers what it was like to love him; like touching her hand to a reflection. Reaching for an image in water and watching it slip through her fingers. Yet suddenly he's here, and real, and-

Kissing her.

Peach lips meld to hers so tenderly that her heart shatters. She's sure that it has. Small palms reach for the smooth surface behind her and grip at its edge, bracing. Adrien merely presses his mouth to hers sweetly. Once, twice, never asking for anything more. But then Marinette looks up at him as if the universe has been recentered, and something between them shifts irrevocably.

Adrien's eyes lull, a smolder at their core as he barricades her with an arm at either side. Her breath is wild as he whispers against the shell of a blush-lit ear.

"May I?"

And she ought to think it through or slow it down but instead Marinette closes her eyes and tilts her pursed lips in permission. Adrien barely hesitates to accept. This time he sighs against her lips and molds his mouth to hers in a curious way that sparks the slightest buck of her hips. His tongue sweeps across her lower lip gingerly and a gasp is all that's needed to allow Adrien to kiss her in full. It's exactly how it makes her ache-fully, to depths where sunbeams barely reach.

The blonde kisses as if he were drinking of her languidly; tasting the edges of her soul. Marinette begins to follow the rhythm thinking it familiar all the while. She finally braves his tongue with her own and the hum that leaves Adrien's throat echoes in her skull and curls in her fingers, sinful and saccharine. When she presses closer the sound of her own voice is unrecognizable- a sensual whine that slips between them and stokes at something feral.

Adrien drags (she can feel each finger pressing into her) his hands up along her sides. Against hip and ribcage and neckline with a calculated depth that burns where they play. He cups at her cheek and groans, their lips parting with a succulent wetness. Marinette can feel the compression of her lungs- and heart and soul, crushing- as she inhales sharply; her skin registers the whisper of a thumb against the skin peeking at her waist.

Thighs are parted by the curve of Adrien's knee, his hands rising to the very edge of no return that runs just beneath the fullness of her breasts. The cotton presses there, searing, a whimper stolen from Mari's mouth as the heat between her legs presses at just the right place. The bow of her back arches towards him as she keens, and she's delirious, and his lips are so close, and the green eyes devouring her-

Are not Chat Noir's.

"Stop!" She manages to whimper against an oncoming kiss.

"Did I hurt you?" Adrien's golden brows meet at the center of his lovely face. There's worry there, Marinette notes as the gentleness of large palms soothes against her arms. "I'm sorry. I know that was sudden, but Marinette-"

Her head shakes fiercely. "No. I shouldn't be doing this with you. I shouldn't have even been here today." She wiggles away from her perch beneath him and the sudden loss of heat is nearly startling.

"Marinette," Adrien begins again, voice soft and skin gleaming. "I need to explain-"

"It's fine." The flushed young woman promises. "I have to go. Just... Please forget all of that."

Adrien reaches for her hand, missing by less than the breadth of a heartbeat.

Fighting back tears, Marinette wonders why it feels like something precious has been severed.

Why the taste on her tongue is suddenly ashen.

Why she wanted to stay.

"Maybe it's time you.. y'know. Said something?" A small feline shadow glances at Adrien through bright lime colored eyes. He nibbles at the wheel of offensively-scented camembert cheese between his hands before adding, "You love her, dontcha? What are you waiting for? For her to get away like Ladybug did?"

Adrien stares up at the ceiling and wishes that his plush bed would swallow him up. Marinette had been there for him unknowingly. Had brightened the most mundane part of the glamorous lifestyle he'd been born into. The one he could only escape as Chat Noir...

Whom Marinette did not realize was him.

When she'd stood there, radiant from their dance and pleased with her work, Adrien had forgotten. Gotten lost in her. She would think that she'd kissed someone else; that the wholeness of being with him was a part of her imagination. How long could he pretend? No...

How much longer would he lie?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some kwami headcannons that include the pair of them being involved in well known stories and bits of history (Romeo and Juliette angst AU anyone?). FYI, Freya is a goddess associated with ladybugs. Do with that what you will.

* * *

 

 

She shouldn't be this reckless.

Sidled against the cover of midnight, twin wisps of ruby-hued gossamer sway in the breeze. The owner of the delicate antennae nearly hums with impatience, her energy grasping blindly like an appendage of its own.

The balcony is as still as the girl slumbering somewhere beneath it.

Lately it's been a fitful sleep, Tikki reflects silently. Marinette tosses and turns, trapped in visions of turmoil. She's cried once so far. Enough times to pierce both the kwami's heart and resolve.

An imminent crackle of negative static sets Tikki's wings aflutter. Something like a void crawls along her supple, otherworldly skin, the familiar thrill of it nearly enough to cut through the worry.

"Plagg."

It's the softest of whispers- dandelion fluff in the wind- as slits of jade flash in the moonlight. His feline form is barely visible against a backdrop of shadows, crooked grin accented by the curve of tiny white fangs.

"It's been a while, bugaboo." The kwami scoffs at the borrowed endearment. "But what's a couple hundred years, right?"

Sapphire eyes narrow. "You never change. Incorrigible as the day we came to be. And you smell like… cheese?"

"The fanciest camembert money can buy, little red. I got unusually lucky this cycle."

Thick lashes cast the slightest of shadows against a smooth, spotted cheek. Tikki floats gracefully, a crimson perimeter around the whole of Plagg's body; the closeness of her causes his tail to twitch restlessly. When she opens her eyes they are ancient and endless and sad.

"Hey. Don't start. You know how they are, these humans. No better over time either." The black kwami retires to the edge of a wicker chair to lounge casually.

"I knew from the moment I felt you in Marinette's classroom that this would be anything but easy."

Plagg chuckles and stretches in a manner suited to his cat-like form. "I didn't think the old man would choose two of 'em situated so closely together. It's been a fun mess though, hasn't it… I mean, how have they not worked it out? I'm itching to let the cat outta the bag."

"You know we can't. We can't-"

"Tell them anything." Plagg finishes the thought. "I know. I'm annoying, not foolish."

"She's not well." Tikki wilts in the night as she confesses her sorrow. "The confusion is draining her. It's making me less effective in battle."

"Oh, I know what you mean. Adrien is strung tighter than a harp right now. But I can't coddle him now. This is that age when humans start to shape who they're meant to become. To find their own strength. You know that as well as I do, Tikki."

The sudden wisdom of his words reminds the little insect god that Plagg is every bit as immortal as she.

"Besides. It never turns out well when we interfere. Do you want another 'Romeo and Juliette' on your hands? Wrong names, but who'd have thought that'd go down in history." Plagg laughs bitterly.

"That wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was."

"It wasn't. I don't care if I have to remind you for all eternity." Tikki settles herself down across from the glowing stare of the male kwami. The stars twinkle overhead, deceptive pinpoints of light that reflect a past no human could hope to imagine. "It's impossible not to love them, isn't it." She sighs.

There is no answer other than a flattening of ears.

"Remember England?"

Tikki gazes at him fondly. "Yes. How they found out on that castle tower the eve of the coronation ceremony."

"And then went at it right then and there. Humans. I still don't get the mating bit."

"It's not that hard to understand."

"They want to avoid children but pursue the act nonstop. Enlighten me."

A tiny ruby body is wracked by giggles. "It's a pleasure. A wholeness. Like-"

She touches a tiny hand to one of his own and the nameless completion of two ethereal halves clashes-

Luck and Misfortune.

Creation and Ruin.

The beginning and end of all things.

Plagg rubs a velveteen cheek to every curve of her. It isn't fair, this state of being. This closeness that can't be fulfilled; they're meant to be a single entity. Instead they tease at what could be had their power never been split out of fear and selfish necessity. Humans crave a closeness of flesh that pales in comparison, he bristles… then sighs.

"It's going to be fine, Freyya."

Blue eyes shimmer. "I haven't been called that-"

"In over five thousand years. I know."

"I believe in her." Tikki declares, perhaps more to herself. "Marinette is unlike anyone I've had before."

"Adrien is special, too."

"Do you think they find each other because they're meant to? Or because of us?"

"Who knows. Maybe they force us to find each other. Maybe it doesn't matter."

The sky begins to glow with the golden promise of morning.

It won't be long.

Tikki smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to finish someday but my perspective has changed along with the show's development. We shall see... thanks for reading :)

* * *

 

Somewhere in the heart of Paris, a blossom wilts in the sun.

There are days when it will taste air and sun and rain and seem to liven, only to return to its previously melancholy state, as if burdened by the weight of the world. Its petals scatter when least expected; tears in the wind.

Marinette wanders the border between joy and misery like a ghost of her former self.

The genuine zeal and heroism of Ladybug is reduced to a composed act. As of late the dissolution of her transformation ends in a sigh of relief. Uncertainty begins to gnaw at her like a predator keen on its prey, through the layer after layer of flesh, bone, and sinew.

When will it finally swallow her heart whole, she wonders?

It is approximately three weeks, four days, and ten hours later when the persistent beast finally reaches the core of her pulse. Rattles it like a helpless toy before sinking fangs full of poisonous trepidation into every heaving artery.

Wondering if her luck has finally begun to run out, Marinette crosses paths with he whom she least wishes to see, infamous green eyes trained on her the second she steps out of work.

"Marinette!" Adrien waves at her quickly before his expression settles into something sheepish. Abashed. Smoothing the hem of her soft mauve dress- lovingly crafted from leftover fabric-she approaches the young man on flighty, sandal-strapped feet.

"Hello," he begins almost softly. "Listen, I just... Want to talk to you."

Her jaw hardens as Mari replies carefully. "What about?"

"The photo shoot. I'm not sure what happened, but-"

"I don't want to talk about that." The secret heroine is already descending several steps, cheeks aflame. Why now? Why couldn't he demand this of her years ago, when she still had everything to give?

"Marinette. Please." Something about the way Adrien stresses his need makes her stop (though there's a definite grind of her jaw as she does so) and turn to look at him. She doesn't owe him an explanation. She doesn't owe this man anything.

But she owes herself this much... Doesn't she?

"I shouldn't have done that. Or let you do that." She approaches the taller male until she's close enough to measure the height difference accurately. Marinette's voice simmers into a low whisper. "I had feelings for you years ago. It was just a stupid crush, so I got caught up in the moment."

"So you don't feel that way anymore... Not at all?"

"Huh?"

Those eyes- that particular hue of Agreste green- bore right into midday blue. Suddenly everything seems so familiar that the chill of it burns like an electric crackle along her spine. Why does Adrien remind her of him so very much?

"No." Her answer is gravelly with resolution. "There's someone else I love."

"I know."

"Excuse me?"

"What if... What if the person you love wasn't who you thought he was?"

Her brows furrow. "What are you talking about?"

At this Adrien sighs, staring longingly before shaking his head. "There's something really important I want to tell you. But I can't right now. I just hope the explanation is something you can forgive me for."

As Marinette watches the breadth of his shoulders as he turns to walk away, a hard sound registers. A heaviness of something hitting the concrete steps. It's a small black object that rolls towards her, cold and unyeilding in the warmth of her palm as she picks it up.

A cat?

"You... You dropped this!" She calls out, eyeing the beckoning creature as Adrien makes his way back for it.

"Oh! Thank you. I would have missed this if I lost it."

"Do you mind if I ask where you got it? It's just..."

The rest of the thought dissipates on Marinette's tongue as the blonde's hand cups her own, lingering. "Someone very inportant gave it to me. Thank you."

Is he blushing? Is she? How long has her hand been held to the smooth skin of his own?

"You're welcome." The young intern nods, pulling her hand away swiftly. It feels scalded.

"We'll talk soon? I promise I won't waste your time or do anything you don't want me to."

"I... If it's that important."

"It is."

His eyes hold a glimmer of promise that Marinette is willing to believe. She nods so that they may part ways. But a new question burrows into her mind to nest: Where had Adrien gotten that cat charm?

"It's no big deal Tikki. Adrien is rich. He represents a fashion label. He's probably been to China a hundred times."

The small red kwami sighs, knowing full well that Marinette is musing aloud. She could have gone for a stroll and the heroine would have ranted on, none the wiser to her absense.

"I mean," Mari continues, "it did look alot like the one I gave Chat Noir. Onyx is kind of pricey, but well, he is loaded... Maybe it came in a gift bag from a show or something?" The young woman flops onto her bed with a growl of frustration. All of the sudden her word is a tangled mess. Or a bigger mess than it'd been since becoming Ladybug, anyway. If she could just find the one string to tug on that would undo it all. Or get her away from Adrien's sudden interest, at least.

It has been a while since she's seen her debonair kitty, Marinette realizes against a sudden swell of longing. It's hard to believe that there had ever been a time in which she couldn't stand him. A sigh leaves her just as her fingers dig into a pillow clutched between her hands.

Who was her masked lover once the sun rose?

Who had really been beside her all of these years as their need for one another was slowly woven together?

"I don't know... But I love him anyway." Marinette declares up to the cream colored void of the ceiling above.

"What is your heart telling you, Marinette?" Tikki hums from a desk across the room in between bites of a chocolate chip cookie. The young woman can't help but laugh as she peeks up at the kwami's crumb covered mouth.

"That it's time, Tikki. I need him to know the truth."

"And if he doesn't feel the same?"

She'd shatter silently.

It would end her.

Marinette smiles.

"Then I'll just have to move on, won't I."

There is a definitive, consuming silence as Marinette sits before her vanity before the soft rustling of boar-bristles on thick, dark hair soothes against it. It's an unnecesary but calming process; she watches the reflection of an uncertain young woman beginning to ease at the shoulders with each stroke.

A small smile tugs at her lips as the heroine is reminded of days long gone: her mother standing behind her, a lingering scent of sugar and warm bread embracing them both. In that little atmosphere for two they'd bred laughter and music, every other word a gentle pull on Marinette's sleek locks. By the time her pigtails were lovingly fastened with ribbon the little girl would be a fourth of the way into a land of dreams, eyes heavily lidded and ready for bed.

It seems so long ago.

She'd let time rush by. Marinette is a woman full-grown yet her problems remain the same. Her career. Identity. The years-old gap in her heart that she hasn't quite figured out how to repair.

"Are you ready?" Tikki hums gently, asking only because the answer is already so clear.

Marinette nods, a finger reaching up to stroke the ancient bauble at her ear.

"Tikki, spots on!"


End file.
